What Shall Become
by BlackWiltedRose
Summary: A love once lost, is lost forever...At least that's what he had believed for the past fifteen years of his life. That was until he realized that fate had something else in mind.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello Everyone! Here is my second King Arthur FanFiction Story. Unlike Eyes Of Faith, this story is not finished. I am writing it as I go, so bare with me. I just recently came up with this idea and I love it. I want to write it down so I don't forget. I will be continuing to update Eyes of Faith. So don't fear about that. I hope you enjoy this as much as I am :) Leave your comments and let me know how I'm doing!_

_love,_

_bwr_

* * *

><p><strong>What Shall Become<strong>

Tristan took a deep breath that expanded his ribcage and closed his tired eyes with a sigh as he began counting out loud to twenty. The wind carried his voice through the warm air. His dark brown hair hung down upon his shoulders and was plaited in to random braids spaced sporadically about his head. Tristan could feel her eyes boring in to his skin. He could hear her shallow breathing even from where she stood in the forest. She was waiting for him to make his move, to find her.

He finished counting and slowly opened his eyes. The setting sun shielded his line of vision for a moment before they adjusted. Tristan turned around and began to walk slowly towards the trees. He could hear the sound of leaves ruffling as she rearranged her position. It came from his right. Instead of heading directly towards his prey, he moved slowly in the opposite direction. Tristan took his time. He wanted her to sweat. He wanted the anticipation to grow within her and so he allowed her to enjoy the brief satisfaction of success, before he made his move. It was more enjoyable that way.

Her heart was pounding rhythmically within her chest as her predator walked farther in to the forest. Each step that he took was taking him farther in the opposite direction from where she stood.

_Had she truly deceived him this time?_

Somehow she felt that this was impossible with Tristan. He had been trained by the elders since infancy. He was crafted to be hyperaware of his surroundings. For this she was thankful. She knew that if he was not, he would be dead. Tristan was the eldest male child of the tribe, which meant that soon the Roman military would arrive and take him away. It could be within days, or years. Either way, Tristan's very life depended upon his skill to survive.

Suddenly strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her swiftly from where her back was pressed firmly against the tree. The woman screamed in shock and then relaxed her body in to the familiar embrace. She would recognize his scent anywhere. He constantly smelled of pine needles and smoke.

"You breathe too loud," he said as his warm breath tickled the corner of her ear. Tristan placed his hand on her lower abdomen. "Do not allow your breath to sit here." He then placed the other hand gently on her throat, "but here."

The woman didn't speak; she just nodded her head and starred in to his golden gaze. Her name was Loralie. She was the granddaughter of the tribe elder. Their parents had been close companions ever since infancy. They had been thrown together since birth and had developed a undeniably close companionship throughout the seventeen years that they had been alive upon the earth.

"It is hopeless; I will never have your skill of evasion." Loralie sighed and lowered her head.

Tristan just smirked and placed his fingers under her chin. He lifted up her face to meet his own and his eyes held a suspicious glint. "That is because you do not wish to evade me."

"Ooh, is that what you believe?" Loralie asked, smiling up at the boy who knew her better than anyone alive. There was nothing that she could willingly hide from Tristan. With one look in to her eyes all truth was laid bare.

"That is what I know," he said. "Besides, I have seen you escape your mother quite successfully."

"Yes, that is true. However, she is not as equally skilled as you."

"Yes, and yet I believe she is equally as dangerous, especially with a broom in her hand." They both laughed goodheartedly at past memories and turned to walk back towards the village in which they had come. The sun was lowering in the sky and supper would soon be prepared. Smoke was billowing up towards the sky from the campfires that warmed the hands of those who built them. Mud huts with rounded roofs littered a grassy plain that stretched as far as their eyes could see. In the distance the sound of seabirds sent their melody dancing along the wind.

This was their home. It was the only place that they had ever known and it went by the name of Sarmatia. It was a country under the dominion of the Roman Empire. Its citizens were sporadic groups of nomads who traveled freely throughout the land. There were no large industrial cities. It was a culture that civility had yet to touch.

Their tribe resided along the southern half of Sarmatia. They were Siraces**. **Their people had originally migrated from the Caspian Sea and now moved along the coast of the Black Sea. The Siraces were hunters and fishermen. They learned to be one with nature and to read the land. Most of Sarmatia was open grassy plains. However, they chose to live among lush forest and thick vegetation.

The young girl broke the silence and turned to her friend. "I may not be able to hide from you, but I know the one thing in which I shall always triumph." Loralie said to the boy who stood by her side.

"And what may that be?"

Without saying another word Loralie took off at full speed down the grassy slope. He could hear her laughing as she ran towards the village. When Tristan realized her intension, he began sprinting after her. The woman stumbled and almost fell forward but she was upright within seconds. Even with the downward slope Tristan was no match for her swiftness of foot.

Loralie continued running, pushing her way past bewildered people, and hurdling over any obstacles in her way. She ignored their angry words of disapproval. Loralie could hear Tristan's heavy footsteps from behind and it only fueled her adrenaline further. She could see her father up ahead, hanging the venison that he had just killed that evening during the hunt. She smiled and knew that her mother would be proud. The man turned when his eldest daughter appeared suddenly beside him. Without warning she was tackled from behind and laid sprawled out on the ground. Tristan lay beside her. Both children were trying to catch their breath.

"You boy, are a bad influence." her father said, looking down with amusement at the couple.

"Ahh, you are mistaken Sir. I believe that the blame is deserved elsewhere." Tristan stood to his feet and dusted dirt off of his trousers and tunic.

Loralie continued to lie laughing on her back. She clutched her hand over her stomach and tried to calm herself. Her lungs began to burn. After a few moments Tristan reached out his hand and helped the girl to her feet. It was in that moment that her mother made her way towards them from across the field. Her expression was one of disapproval.

Tristan bowed his head in respect when she was close enough to be acknowledged. The boy looked up when she began to speak. "Tristan, I view you as a son. But you must learn to contain yourself. In case you may have forgotten, my daughter is a woman and she must not be tramping around across the countryside in such a manner. I did not raise my children in such a way." Loralie's mother was tall and proud. Her skin was tan and her hair deep brown, like her daughters. She was strong like most Sarmatia women. They were built to survive.

The young man nodded his head to signal his understanding as he turned to look at Loralie as she leaned lazily against a wooden post. Tristan's eyes traveled up her recently developed figure. Her body was slender and she stood tall, eye to eye with himself. Her waist was lean and her breasts small but their outline lay clearly visible through her cotton blouse. This was enough to arouse him slightly and his eyes continued to travel up her body. Loralie's complexion was fair and smooth from youth. Her hair was dark and hung straight, but wild around her shoulders. Finally his gaze landed on her face and met with her brilliant blue eyes that were shining with amusement. Tristan remembered that he was being watched and returned his eyes back to her mother. "Indeed, I have not forgotten that she is a woman."

Loralie swatted out her hand and hit him in the side. Then she grabbed his hand and pulled him away from her parents. Her father was smirking from behind the children and her mother shook her head with a sigh. She turned to look at her husband. "What will I do with those two?"

"Must something be done?" He asked, as he watched Loralie and Tristan walk away towards the hut where Tristan's family resided.

"You do not believe so?" His wife asked curiously.

The man placed his arm around his wife and pulled her in to a passionate kiss. When they pulled away he smiled. "I believe that if something was to be done, it should have been done seventeen years ago. It is too late now to change the course of fate."

Suddenly a young boy of about ten winters came running up to the man. He tugged hard on his tunic to get his attention. Loralie's father let go of his wife and looked down. "What is it boy?"

For a few moments the child could not speak. He was hunched over trying to catch his breath. Soon he was upright and the words that came out of his mouth struck dread in to the hearts of the couple who heard it.

"The Romans have arrived."


	2. Chapter 2

_I just finished CHAPTER T_WO! _I'm really enjoying writing this story. I hope you all enjoy reading it just as much! I have so much planned and I can't wait to see how it all plays out. I love you all, let me know what you think!_

Love,

bwr

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

Loralie could hear the sound of the hoof beats pounding upon the ground, before she saw the ominous figures of horses stampeding over the hillside and down towards their village. The red haze of sunset dyed the sky behind them. She saw the metal armor, the red capes billowing off their shoulders. Loralie had heard their description enough to recognize the Roman army when they arrived. Her father had been too young to be taken when they showed up so many years ago and yet he was old enough to remember the moment that they had taken his older brother. He was only one of many men, who were to never be seen in those lands again.

Suddenly Loralie realized that the hand that was holding her own had tightened firmly in her grasp. She looked over quickly and her eyes fell upon Tristan. He was staring out across the field at the approaching army. His eyes were blank, his chin was high and yet his hands trembled. Loralie couldn't take her eyes off of his face. After seventeen years, she knew that this could possibly be the last moment that they ever shared. In a blind panic, she pulled Tristan towards her and out of the road. Their figures were hidden behind a tent. The sudden movement caught Tristan's attention and he looked at her curiously. Without thinking, Loralie reached up and pulled his face towards her own.

Their lips met awkwardly at first. Neither of the two knew quite what was happening. However, the moment that his mind cleared Tristan wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her firmly against his chest. Their kiss was innocent. It was the first for both. Yet it was true, and more real than anything that they had ever experienced. Tristan knew from the moment of her birth, that she had been meant to be in his arms and nowhere else.

Tristan released her gently and looked in to her eyes. No words were spoken and none needed be. He brushed the hair back from her eyes and then took her hand to lead her to the center of the village where everyone was now gathered. The crowd turned to stare at Tristan as the couple pushed through the onlookers. They stared as if he were condemned to death. The children stopped walking when they were next to Tristan's father who stood firmly looking up at the soldiers with a bitter hatred burning in his brown eyes.

The man's name was Terran. A brutal scar ran from the left side of his temple, down to his chin. The scar pulled the right corner of his eye outward slightly. It was only one of many that he wielded from his own years of service. Terran knew personally what awaited his eldest son. He had trained Tristan since birth and now that the time was before them, he felt that it was almost impossible to let him go. It was like throwing your child in to a den of lions. There was no escape. It was true that he himself had lived…but he was the only one out of seventy soldiers.

"Who is in charge here?" spoke the commanding officer of the Roman military.

"I am," came the proud voice of Loralies father as he stepped further away from his wife's side. Yet as he took a step forward, so did she. Her hand was still resting on his arm. "My name is Jenadi."

"Have your women prepare a meal, my men are hungry. We will camp here tonight and leave at dawn."

"Sir, we have prepared all that we have to feed the village. We have not enough extra to feed your men as well. If you would give us time, we can send out our best hunters to find some food."

Before Jenadi could continue the commander held up his hand to stop him. "No need, we will just take what you have prepared."

Tristans father began to step forward in protest, but Jenadi put his hand on his best friend's chest. "Leave it."

"But that's to feed our children…"

"I said leave it!"

Terran growled and showed past the man and walked through the crowd. Trstian followed his father with his gaze, until he disappeared around a corner.

Darkness fell upon the village. The women fed the Romans while Tristan and a few of the other men went out in search of their own food. The clouds almost completely covered the moon and he could barely see his own hand in front of his face. Yet, they managed to return with enough to feed the women and children. That was enough.

The night began to settle and Tristan was sleeping out on the dirt ground a few feet back from the grass that lead up from the shore. The Romans had taken their homes for the night and so they forced the villagers to sleep wherever they could.

He chose the alcove by the shore of the sea. It had always been his favorite place. Tristan heard the soft sound of footfall approaching him from behind. Looking up quickly, he saw Loralie gazing down at him. The moon had returned and it reflected off her pale skin. She walked over and sat down by his side. She didn't speak; she just laid down and curled up on his chest.

For an hour, no words were uttered. They just lay silently in each other's arms. Tristan thought she was asleep, and was startled by her voice. "Are you frightened?"

It took him a few moments and finally he answered, "Yes."

Loralie reached up and traced the fresh tattoos that now marked his cheeks. It was the sign of a mature warrior. The elders had just performed the ceremony a few hours before. In Loralies heart, they seemed only to be the last and final truth of what she had been aware of but ignored her entire life. Tristan would be gone.

The night seemed to pass more quickly than they would have liked and soon morning was arriving with full force. Tristan shook Loralie awake and they walked together towards the village. Tristan walked over to his father, who was already preparing his horse. At the site of the loaded stallion, tears came to Loralie's eyes and it killed Tristan to see it.

Loralie never cried. Not since she was a small girl.

And now she cried for him.

Tristan reached out to comfort her, but she turned away and walked over to her mother who was standing a short distance away. Her arms were outstretched and she embraced her daughter with compassion. She squeezed Loralie tightly as the child sobbed in to her shoulder, knowing that no matter how strong her grip, it could never repair a broken heart.

"You boy, get your stuff and hurry along!" yelled the commanding Roman officer. His hair was short and silver in color.

"He will be there in a moment," Terran snarled.

"I'd hold my tongue if I were you old man," said the commander.

"I'll do what I please," said Tristans father who turned his chest to face the man who confronted him.

Before he could say another word, another Roman soldier came up upon his right and hit Terran upon the temple with the hilt of his sword. The older man fell to the ground and didn't move.

The Roman lifted up his sword to strike again. However, Loralie jumped forward and shoved the soldier hard against the chest as she stood over Terran who lay unconscious on the ground. "Do not touch him!" Tristan was being held back by one of the other older boys.

"Well aren't you a beautiful young thing," came the Romans snarl. Loralie didn't like the look in his eyes and shivered. "Ya know, my men and I haven't had the company of a woman in quite some time."

"And how is that my problem?"

"It doesn't have to be a problem if you don't make it one," he reached out and ran his finger down the side of her face. The moment it brushed her lips, Loralie opened her mouth and bit down hard on his index finger. The metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth. The officer yelled in pain and then backhanded her hard across the jaw which gave a sickening crack.

The soldier reached out and grabbed Loralie by the hair, pulled her to her feet and yanked her head back. In the distance, her mother sobbed as her father held her by the arm. His own desire was to cut the man to pieces and yet he knew that he had the rest of his family to protect as well. He could not do that if he was dead. So he was forced to watch in agony at the torture of his oldest daughter. There was no words to describe the shame in him.

Loralie spat in the soldiers face and without a moment's hesitation, a sword sliced through her the center of her chest. She choked back a sob and screamed only when he yanked it from her body and tossed her to the ground.

"NO!" Tristan screamed and sprang forward; however, he was halted in midair by the iron grasp of one of the older Sarmatian boys. Tristan kicked and pried at the boy's arm until blood ran from them. But he couldn't break the grip. The boy whispered quickly, "It's not worth it. They will kill your entire family…like they killed mine."

Tristan stopped struggling and almost collapsed as he stared at Loralie's unmoving body on the ground. All the blood drained from his face and his will to fight receded. He turned away from the crowd and walked away in to the darkness of an alley. He was still in view of the, but all they saw was his back.

The Roman looked after him with a smirk of satisfaction on his face and then turned back to the Sarmatians that gathered before him. "Does anyone else have a problem?"

The sound of screaming and weeping echoed throughout the village, but nobody stepped forward. Loralies mother had collapsed sobbing upon the dirt floor beneath her. Her father stood silent and as still as a statue. He couldn't move or think.

Loralie was carried away to the tent of the healers and that was the last goodbye that Tristan had. He couldn't touch her or look at her in such a state. He pictured her alive with her head on his chest like it had been the night before. She wasn't dead yet. But he knew that she would be and he couldn't bare to stand around and watch.

It didn't take long before Tristan returned. His face was like stone. Terran walked up to his son slowly and placed a hand on his sons shoulder. "Be strong."

Tristan just nodded and mounted his horse. Without another word he snapped the reins and led the way across the plains and away from everything that he loved.

Days passed by and he spoke not a word to anyone.

One day that changed. "Was she your sister?" came a voice from his left.

Tristan didn't turn his head to reply, "No."

"Then who was she?"

"The best person that I had ever known."


	3. Chapter 3

_Sorry it took me so long to update this! __For those of you who don't already know, i work full time, go to college and I'm studying nursing. So I barely have time to think, let alone write a new story. But I promise I will get them up as quickly as possible. Thank you to all my previous reviews, they mean a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this new one!_

_love,_

_BWR_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

Tristan had never known fatigue like what he was experiencing after four months of travel across the open country to a land in which he had no desire to see. Their destination was Britain. The Roman officers felt little need to cater to their needs and two boys had already died along the way. The young knights were given a scarce supply of food and water. It was barely enough to sustain a small child. Yet the strong survived.

It wasn't long before the boys began to pair off in to groups. Each found a companion suitable to their characters. All except a cocky dark haired boy named Lancelot whose bitterness kept him from growing attached and Tristan, who barely spoke more than two words at one time to anyone. This irritated the guards and he would often receive a swift blow for not properly answering an officer.

"I believe you're digging your own grave my friend," said the oldest of the knights. A young man of twenty named Percival. His tribe was small and he was the only man who was capable of wielding a sword or at least surviving the trip.

"My grave was already prepared the day I left my home."

A few of the boys turned to stare at him. Their eyes were dark and filled with hopelessness. Tristan turned away and rode off in to the front and away from their stares. He preferred to be alone. He could focus harder, pay more attention to his surroundings and less to his heart. It was the one voice that was screaming without seizing, begging him to turn around and return to the one he loved and yet there was the other voice in his mind that knew that she was dead. This was an even more painful thought. So he kept his mind focused on his skill, it was the one gift from the gods that never left him.

"You boy…what are you doing?" came a rough voice from the second in command of the Roman Legion. Each time he heard that voice, the hair on Tristans arms stood up and he felt a deep hatred penetrate his soul. It came from the lowest of all human beings. It was by his hands that ran a sword through Loralies stomach for doing nothing more than protecting his father. It was those same hands that carelessly tossed her body to the dirt.

"I am watching the land," Tristan said. He kept full eye contact with the devil and never looked away.

"We already have a scout," came the reply.

"You know as well as I, that he is no scout," was all Tristan murmured and then turned his horse around and continued to watch the ground.

The guard of whom he spoke grew angry and before anyone could respond, he swung out his horse whip and it latched firmly around Tristans bicep. The young boy screamed in pain and was pulled sideways off of his horse. Tristan instinctively turned so that he landed properly and yet the impact still caused pain to jolt through his right side.

There was a commotion around the group. The boys were hollering out the injustice, while the guards were trying to get them under control. They were tired of being bullied and an uprising was beginning to take place. It was clear in the eyes of the commander, who hollered for the men to control themselves, that he feared the consequence of the boys banded together against them.

"We have lost enough already. It would look bad if we returned with nothing but a handful of mangled boy. So keep your hands to yourself."

"But Sir, did you see the disrespect…"

"I SAID ENOUGH! You will do as I say or you will find yourself resting upon the ground beside the boy…except you won't be getting back up."

Tristan looked down at his arm. His tunic was tattered and blood was seeping from an open wound that ran from his shoulder to his elbow. He knew that the Romans would do little to help and decided to speak with one of the other boys to see if anyone was skilled in healing. It was his wielding arm and it was important to keep it in the best condition possible. A wound such as that, if not properly treated, could lead to infection and even death.

Not that death was such an unwelcome thought to Tristan. When he thought of death, he thought of love. He thought of Loralie and knew that only in death would he be reunited with her now. The only thing that kept him pushing forward was the thought of retribution. Tristan vowed that he would deal the same fate to the man who had dealt hers. He would not rest until there was justice for her death. Even though not justice could make right the wrong that had been done.

Never again would Tristan feel whole.

Loralie was everything good inside of him. Tristan would have been cold and lost without her guidance through the years. They were young and yet they had learned from each other. Loralie knew exactly what to say to cool his hot temper. Her smile alone could remove the frown that seemed to constantly stain his face. She taught him what it means to truly be alive and now he wasn't sure how to live without her.

Tristan knew that Loralie would have smacked him for even considering the thought of giving up. Her temper was very rarely seen and almost always felt. She was like a ray of sunshine to almost everyone she knew. Tristan was the only one who had ever saw her anything but happy and that was because he was the only one whom she felt that she could trust.

"Let me look at that," sounded a deep voice from the right. Tristan pulled his arm away instinctively and eyed the newcomer with caution.

It was the tallest and quietest of the knights, other than Tristan himself. The boy's name was Dagonet and he came from a village not too far from Trisans. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"My father was the tribe healer, he taught me what he knew."

Tristan didn't respond, he just nodded his head and reached out his arm slowly. Dagonet could tell that Tristan's trust was not given freely and must be earned. He hoped to do that someday. After all, they were now brothers.

Back in Sarmatia, a funeral was being held. Rows of people lined the seaside, torches lit within their hands and flowers littered the shore. They were honoring the life of one of their own. Standing at the head, before the group of people was Tristans mother Zara. Her soft voice traveled upon the air as she sang a sorrowful tune of mourning. Beside her there stood a young woman barely out of her youth. Her dark hair fell down to cover her bruised face as she leaned against the arm of her father. Loralie could hardly breathe.

She stood with tear stained cheeks, looking down upon the elder image of the boy whom she loved. Tristans father Terran, had died. His heart had failed only a few weeks after his sons departure from their homeland. Loralie, wounded and unconscious for days, had barely made it as well and yet she was now able to stand and join the others. She knew that she had been only a brink away from death. However, something inside of her refused to quit. She knew that the God's had a purpose for her life.

Loralie couldn't help but wish that Tristan could have been there beside her. That his strong arms could have wrapped around the tortured frame of his loving mother and shelter her from the pain. The mother and the girl both shared a common bond. Within a two week time, they both knew what it felt like to have their soul mate torn out of their lives. With no warning, they were left alone.

Now that everything had changed, of only two things Loralie was certain of. That Tristan left Sarmatia believing that she was dead and that she was to love no other man but him. So she vowed to wait. A small black circle now marked the corner of her right eye. It was a tattoo to symbolize the first year of his service. She would get a new one each year until the fifteenth one marked her skin. On that day she would set out to find him. She could only hope that Tristan would still be alive and waiting for her.

It was hardly plausible and yet somewhere deep in her soul, she refused to lose hope.

Hope was all she had left.


End file.
